


Ciega, Sordomuda

by guidingkeys



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Co-Parenting, Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guidingkeys/pseuds/guidingkeys
Summary: He was exhausted all the time. Some days it was hard to get off the couch. But Eren had to keep going. And it didn’t matter how he felt. All the momentary distresses were worth it when Ymir beamed at him; that tooth growing in, and those deep dimples flaring. What kind of man was stupid enough to walk out of this baby’s life?
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss & Ymir Fritz, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Eren Yeager, Ymir Fritz & Eren Yeager
Comments: 22
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Imagine person A of your OTP is pregnant with a child that doesn’t belong to person B. Person B is a close friend and offers to be the other parent so that person A doesn’t have to raise the kid alone. Imagine them bonding over sleepless nights and all of the trial and error of parenting, eventually leading them to fall for each other."
> 
> Tweaked the prompt.
> 
> So... this is what I've been working on instead of updating Golden. :| I’ve had this prompt in my head for a few months but never knew how to get it out until I heard Shakira's song of the same title. Had to get it out. Like, immediately.
> 
> I’m probably never gonna stop writing Eren or Historia (or both in this case) as Hispanic/Latine when the opportunity presents itself, so get used to it!

Finals were over, and Eren knew Floch’s penthouse party would be the perfect getaway from his empty apartment. If he had to stomach another textbook about slavery, he might just destroy the world.

The cold snipped the tips of his fingers on the way out of his apartment complex. Floch Forster’s penthouse was a couple of block’s Eren’s opposite; a straight line through the entire campus, past the library and study hall, and a twenty flight of stairs climb. Eren stuffed his hands in his pockets, too far down the block to turn around.

Eren wore his better coat tonight, this thick, puffy jacket he’d always hated because it once belonged to his father. He didn’t hate it as much now. And Mikasa’s black scarf, the one he’d let her borrow as kids and she’d never let go of, wrapped around his throat, covering his mouth. It still smelled like her—a hint of jasmine and family, even after so many washes.

Sometimes he wished he could burn it.

The snow clung to the new boots his mother had delivered to him. Christmas wasn’t for another two weeks, but it hung in every crevice of campus in the forms of rainbow light bulbs and stickers and wreaths with red bow ties and little bells. A string of lights hung on the awning of the dining hall.

Eren hated it.

The choir club burned strong even under the drizzles of snow falling from the black night sky, blanketing their shoulders in thin sheets, and their flushed cheeks. The sign said they were singing carols for donations, St. Judy’s research for cancer in children. Eren approached, dropped a dollar into the bucket by their feet. He hastened, hustling through the parking garage, “Silent Night” floating behind him in perfect precision and harmony. He always hated that song.

By the time Eren reached the clean glass door to Floch’s fancy complex, his boots were soaked in snow. Some cars passed up and down the intersection, but other than that, the only company were the stars dotting the night and the street lamps flickering overhead, casting ugly orange glows along the littered sidewalk. Eren kicked aside a soda, then felt bad and chucked it in the nearest trash can.

A blast of warm air slapped his face when Eren opened the door. Even from down here, a cacophony of bass-heavy music floated to him. Floch always threw the wildest parties. One time Eren woke up to five traffic cones—those huge ones with the water in them—in his own apartment. He had no recollection of the night before. He didn’t even know how he made it home.

Right as he was about to hit the stairwell, a door at the end of the corridor flew open, smacking against the wall. “Get out already! Go!”

“Are you kidding me, Lukas?”

That name brought everything to a standstill. Eren froze, his hand on the knob. Lukas. And that voice.

Eren knew Lukas. Only because of—

A baby wailed.

“God! Would you shut her up already, Historia?! All I wanted was a little downtime but then I come home to this.”

“Well, how do you think I feel?” Historia retorted, though her tone wasn’t in its usual sarcastic affliction. She was on the verge of crying. “All I needed was for you to watch her for a few seconds while I used the bathroom. And you can’t even do that one thing for me!”

His feet sailed down the corridor. Grabbed the door before it shut.

Lukas’ apartment was small—way smaller than his and Jean’s. It was barely enough space for two people. Much less three. It was suffocating, how much space there wasn’t. Even in the safety of the hallway, Eren’s lungs squeezed tight, and the stench of alcohol crinkled his nose. It just smelled so dirty, like unwashed socks and guy sweat.

What had Historia been thinking?

Eren hadn’t caught the rest of the screaming match because, like some fucking fairy princess, Historia was right there in front of him after all this time; sweeping out of the hallway with her artsy suitcase in one hand. And her baby clutched tightly in her other. “—you’re her father, Lukas! Grow up and take some responsibility already!”

“I never wanted this baby, Historia!”

It shocked him to be on the same page as Lukas. Seriously. Must be a first. Those were almost the same words Eren had told her Lukas would say over a year ago, back when she first found out she was pregnant. Eren was the first person she told.

But Historia Reiss was short, and short-tempered, and stubborn. She tried to convince him—herself—that Lukas would grow up. He would come around. He’s just young, Historia said, a haunted glimmer clouding her doe eyes, he’ll come around soon enough. He just needed to see the baby in the flesh. Feel her. Hold her in his arms for the very first time. Then he’d finish school and get a better job. Maybe buy a house within the next five years.

It’d be different from how her parents turned out.

Historia wasn’t shocked by his declaration. Her slender profile pinched in irritation. “Why’d you even bother taking us in, Lukas?” She hiked her sobbing baby higher. “You told me you wanted this.”

His muscular form came into view, probably from his room and he leered over her. “Maybe I just felt sorry for you.”

“Oh, wow.” Her bite was back. “My hero.”

“I did want to give the dad-thing a try,” Lukas ducked into the kitchen, and Eren heard the sound of glasses clinking. “But I can’t do it anymore. My parents haven’t spoken to me in months. I’m running out of money. I’m done with you, Historia—just get out already.”

“Maybe if you stopped spending all your money on Jordan’s and booze…” Historia trailed off.

But Eren was pissed. Lukas spat ‘dad-thing’ like it was an option. Maybe he shouldn’t be so shocked, so enraged. This white boy came from old money parents, a family that owned dozens of small businesses. Lukas shouldn’t be living in an apartment this small, he should be up in a penthouse suite like Floch, but, according to Historia, Lukas had a huge falling out with his parents. It wasn’t a secret that his parents weren’t fond of him dating a Mexican girl. Alma, Historia’s mother, was from Spain, and Rod was from Argentina.

He couldn’t listen to any more of this bullshit. Eren yanked the scarf down with a finger so Lukas could hear him loud and clear. “You make your bed and can’t lay in it, Lukas?”

Historia’s face snapped to him, stunned when she met his eyes. “Eren?” She whispered like she couldn’t believe it. “¿Qué haces aquí?”

Lukas’ draw dropped, just as equally shocked to see Eren looming in his doorway. But for other reasons. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He leaned against the threshold, hands in his pockets. “Was on my way somewhere else, but I heard you screaming like a little bitch,” Eren shrugged. “So I came.”

His mouth lifted into a wicked smirk. Lukas tugged that Red Sox baseball cap farther down his five-finger forehead. He never went anywhere without that smelly hat. “Cute. Real cute, Yeager.”

“You mind keeping your voice down?” Eren leaned back, counting the heads that had popped out of their apartment doors, nosy about the commotion. “The mother of your child and your kid doesn’t appreciate the noise. Neither do your neighbor’s.”

“What’re you—the fucking campus police?” Lukas scowled. “This is my apartment. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Eren opened his mouth. Thought better of it. The last time Eren checked—courtesy of Historia—the apartment was under his parents’ name. A pity gift, because they didn’t want their son to be completely on his own yet. And if Lukas meant what he said earlier, about his dwindling finances, that meant he would lose the apartment soon enough.

Eren didn’t want to start a petty fist-fight. The guy didn’t even deserve that kind of satisfaction.

Lukas pulled out a long, draw out swig from the Hennessy. “So fuck you and get the hell off my premises before I call the actual campus police.” He said it like a threat but Eren wasn’t scared. Lukas’ bloodshot eyes glinted in Historia’s direction before he rounded the kitchenette, bottle gripped by the neck, and disappeared towards the hallway. “Hope she doesn’t run you dry too.”

Historia’s face crumpled the instant the door slammed.

Instinct screamed at Eren. To storm through this guy’s shitty ass apartment like a tornado and leave a path of shattered glass and flipped furniture—smash that flat-screen Lukas spent all his money on. Smash that PlayStation 4 and tear down the stacks of video games. Snatch a knife from the kitchen and dig right into his stupid fucking Jordan’s’ propped right next to his front door. Barge into his room and throttle him.

Historia halted him with just a look, pinning him in place.

She gazed up at him with those big eyes of hers. Grey marred her lower lids. She hadn’t been sleeping much, same as him. Historia had always been petite for as long as he’d known her, but never so thin—her cheekbones visible in a way that wasn’t artistic. Fingers bony and ready to snap at any second with the wrong twist and hold. Those old, used-to-be-snug clothes of hers were big now. Her skin was paper dry, and her hair lifeless. This wasn’t how he wanted to see Historia again.

Eren ground his back teeth. Hard. “Has he hit you?” He whispered, bracing his entire body for the answer.

She only shook her head.

Her answer should’ve brought him some consolation. But it didn’t. Because it didn’t matter if he hadn’t. There were plenty of other ways to inflict pain. To be hurt. Subtle ways. Ways that could go unnoticed for years until one day someone arranged the pieces together. His skin was on fire, hands curled and clenched into fists in his pockets,

Eren took in the baby’s face. Pudgy. Cheeks red and soaked in tears. The air in Lukas’ apartment was still tense but now that the yelling had ceased, his shut door muffling the ding-ding-ding of a wrestling match on the TV, the baby had calmed down considerably—only a brief sniffle here and there. Bits and pieces of the parenting books and those online guides he’d spent months reading trickled into his brain.

Some infants were hyper-sensitive. One wrong move, a change in voice, a color, could set them off.

“Wear something thicker.” He murmured, reaching for her suitcase. “Both of you. It’s cold out.” Historia squinted up at him, lips pursed. Her old habit of arguing with him on the tip of her tongue. Eren almost laughed, surveying the hallway. Lukas’ neighbors were back in their homes. “Go already.” He told her.

She frowned, but pivoted o her heel—those cheerleading grace another thing that would probably never go away—and disappeared down the hallway.

Within a few minutes, Historia reappeared. She’d swaddled the baby in plenty of layers, looking like a stuffed purple burrito, and strapped inside a chest harness. Historia rolled out a smaller, hot pink suitcase.

Eren took in Historia again—her regular leggings, not suitable for winter, a long sleeve shirt, and Puma sneakers. No gloves and no hat.

He pushed off the wall, kicking Lukas’ Jordan’s aside. “What about you?”

She smirked at the move but shook her head. “Most of my clothes are in…” Historia trailed off, eyes darting towards the hallway, where he booed loudly at whatever was happening. Historia flicked back to Eren. “Sácame de aquí, Eren."

He didn’t need to be told twice. He lined the pink suitcase with the other one out in the hall and started sliding out of his coat sleeves.

“Wait.” Historia protested, realizing what was happening. “Eren—“

“Relax, enana,” He brushed off, silencing her. Eren draped the heavy fabric around her shoulders. He bit back a laugh at how tiny she looked inside. She’d always been way too small for his clothes but she still loved parading around in them when they lived together. The fabric reached the floor, dragging behind her like a train.

Eren zipped it up to the baby, leaving enough room so the metal didn’t dig into her flesh and wouldn’t find a way into her mouth. But the baby didn’t seem to care about that, staring up at him in complete confusion—Historia’s eye shape, her father’s honey color—but Eren took the dumbfounded silence as a good thing. Some babies had social anxiety and didn’t take kindly to strangers.

“It’s not that cold for me.” He said when he finished.

Historia rolled her eyes. “You know the cold doesn’t bother me. You, on the other hand, hate the cold.”

Eren led them outside with a hand on the small of her beck. “Doesn’t mean I can’t handle it.”

“Mhmm…” She hummed, disbelieving, and softly closed the door—a courtesy Lukas didn’t deserve.

The walk to the main entrance was painstakingly quiet, Eren rolling both suitcases. They felt pretty light. She had more than four suitcases when he’d helped her drag them out of his apartment over a year ago. He never wanted her to go but she’d been insistent.

Eren opened the door for her. And, fuck.

It was freezing. And the snow looked like it’d inflated.

After pressing the button for the crosswalk, Eren rubbed his hands together, rubbed his elbows. Tried not to shake.

Historia tried not to laugh. “Eres la definición de un friolento, papito,” She jeered.

“Eschuchame, nena,” Eren shoved the scarf back up to the bridge of his nose and shoved his fists in his jeans. “Not everyone was born in a different country with actual seasons.”

Historia’s brow arched, a smile curling her lips. “¿Y?”

He didn’t answer. Bass poured all the way down from Floch’s floor. He still wanted that fireball Floch had promised to make him. But tonight wasn’t the night. Historia looked like she needed that drink way more than him. Maybe he could whip something together at home—mate. She loved mate.

It fell over him like a ton of improperly cemented bricks. She was coming back.

“Your hair got so long, bichito,” Historia commented softly, peering up at him with those wondrously big eyes he fell for years ago. Her exhales were white, swirling around them. A cold tingle shot down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. “You never told me you wanted to grow it out.”

Bichito.

Warmth flooded his chest, counteracting the cold of the night. She’d overheard Annie calling him a fucking cockroach back in high school. Cucaracha wasn’t a cute nickname, according to Historia. But bichito was. He used to hate it. It used to make him feel like a little kid. She used it a lot when they were dating, too. But now… He realized just how much he’d missed it.

“Uh. Yeah.” He absentmindedly fingered his hair. It’d been a mop of chocolate when he was a teenager. Now it tumbled past his shoulders, much like Historia’s fine hair, and darkened into a solid brown that looked black depending on the light. Just like his old man’s. Eren flicked it away. “Wanted a change, I guess.”

He glanced down at the baby. Her Rudolph red nose, her still red cheeks. She was quiet, still staring up at him. So, maybe not too sensitive of a baby.

“Ymir,” Historia announced.

Eren blinked, his eyes flickering between them. “After—”

She nodded.

His mouth stretched into a half-smile. “Did you tell her?”

Her mouth turned down. “I haven’t spoken to her since we graduated high school.”

“I see.”

Historia squinted up at him, his sleeves on her hips. She was trying to be intimidating, but she was a whole foot shorter than him and bundled in his jacket. She only looked cute. “There’s something different about you.” She observed.

He knew what, but he wasn’t sure Historia did.

Eren waited while she continued to scrutinize him. She eyed the scarf but didn’t comment on it. Her head tilted to the side. “Did you get taller?”

He smiled down at her softly though she couldn’t see behind the scarf. He leaned against the metal of the lamp post and immediately regretted that. “I stopped growing when I was seventeen, Historia. It’s probably the boots.”

“Hm.” Her eyes flicked to them, then back up. “Christmas present from mami?”

He nodded. “She found them saved on my dad’s Amazon wish list,” Eren looked to the ground. “Guess he wanted to get them for me when they weren’t on sale.”

Historia’s lips pursed. She shuffled on her feet. She knew. But she didn’t say anything.

She pulled the beanie down, tucking Ymir’s red ears in. She’d left their place when she was over three months pregnant. Eren wasn’t the best at math, but he figured the baby must be about three-months-old. The snow falling around them stunned her to silence. One speck landed on her button nose. Her entire face screwed up in confusion.

She screeched. Eren couldn’t help but grin under the scarf. She was a thousand percent Historia’s kid when she made that face.

Her mother dabbed it away with a finger. She met his eyes again, and Eren braced himself reflexively at the saddened expression. Historia bit her lip. “I never had the chance to talk to you when I found out about—”

“It’s fine.”

She clamped her mouth into a thin line. Historia looked to the street. The traffic light finally flicked to yield yellow. They could’ve crossed before. There were barely any cars on the street. But something suspended them here.

He hadn’t meant to snap at her like that. Eren wanted to kick himself. She’d never been one to pry. Historia was a genuine person, who only wanted to make sure he was okay, whereas most people were genuinely nosy and wanted to feel helpful to their benefit. It was one of the things he’d always liked about Historia.

But Eren didn’t want to talk about it. Not about his father. Or the two best friend he’d lost while he and his mother lived through what should’ve been their deaths too. It was still too fresh, the memories seeping out in unnoticeable trickles until it gushed when he wasn’t paying attention. The accident hadn’t been his fault, but, fuck, it felt like it. He’d been the one driving the van. They would all be alive if he’d just listened to his mother.

Historia sidled up to him. Her small hand winded through his large jacket sleeve to touch his elbow. She leaned against his arm, the top of her head missing his shoulder by a couple of inches. Her warmth seeped into his layers. She smelled the same way his apartment used to smell before she left—warm vanilla, and home.

“Lo siento.”

He breathed. “Yeah.” Eren exhaled a shaky, stinging breath. He pressed the rough scarf under his nose, grateful the crosswalk flicked on. “I’m sorry, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

No amount of parenting books prepared him for the real thing.

Eren dry heaved into his elbow. “What’d you feed her, Historia?” His eyes stung, the awful smell clinging to his throat, but his trembling fingers kept to his task of unfastening the diaper. “¡Me va a matar, coño!”

Historia bared a brave face. “¡Nada! I’m still breastfeeding her!” But even she faltered, waving a hand in front of her nose. “She’s not ready for solid foods yet—¡puta madre! That  _ does _ smell bad!”

Ymir giggled, mom’s dimples flashing in her chubby cheeks.

“De pinga,” He cursed. “[Es un pequeño diablo].”

_ “¡Oye!” _ She swat his arm and pointed a warning finger in his face. “Watch the language! She’s gonna start speaking soon and I want her first word to be mamá!”

“But you—“ She thumped his chest with a fist. “¡Okay! Perdoname!”

Historia turned her flaring nostrils back to the living room coffee table, Ymir propped on it. The books talked about it a lot. Diaper changing was the most essential skill. Eren remembered all the visual aids. But seeing it first hand was believing. She wouldn’t let him hold Ymir on his own, not without her hawk-like presence, so Eren guessed this was sort of a compromise. He couldn’t say no.

What better way to spend Nochebuena?

Historia’s face fell. “Oh, no,” She moaned, her hands flying to her face when Eren completely unattached the wings. “Her poop’s green.”

One hand still steadying Ymir on his coffee table, Eren pulled his shirt up to the bridge of his nose. “Isn’t it… okay sometimes? For her poop to be green?”

Historia stared at him, incredulous. “Where’d you get that?”

“I… I read those, uh, parenting books you bought before you left… When I got bored of studying…” He said and added quickly when her eyes widened. “You were usually asleep.” He avoided her eyes, working on gathering as much of the feces the diaper would take, folding it under her bottom. “It said green poop could be okay. Sometimes.”

Her eyes lingered on his profile before Historia whipped her face forward—still, he caught her biting her lip. When her hair was down, she could hide her flustered expressions. But she wore her hair up too often, a lot like him. Loose wisps flecked her heart-shaped face that he wanted to tuck behind her ear like he used to.

Soundlessly, she passed Eren a baby wipe and he got to work changing her diaper efficiently. Historia barely had to correct him. It was simple enough, his mind relying on all those aids he’d memorized a year ago, preparing for this moment.

She always loved kids, so it didn’t come as a shock to him when she told him her plans to keep the baby. She’d always been the eldest kid in her foster homes, and she’d been babysitting for extra cash since she was a teenager when she realized her minimum wage job at the local pizza shop wouldn’t be adequate to cover her college expenses even with the help of scholarships and grants. She was always an overachiever.

Armin was like that too. He’d gotten a full ride of Yale, ready to study for ecology. If only he could see this. Out of all the guys, Jean was supposed to be the first to parenthood—depending on Mikasa. Then Armin. They would flip if they could see him now. But Jean hadn’t spoken to him in a long time.

Eren blinked, the pungent smell of the dirty diaper puncturing his nose, his thoughts. Historia held the contents by his face, wiggling it like a prize.

He almost puked.

“If you really read the books,” Historia said while she held Ymir as he walked away, rounding his kitchen island and pressing the pedal for the garbage lid to pop open. “You would know it could mean a lot of different things.” He grabbed her lukewarm mug of mate she’d left on the counter, crossing back to his living room. “But I’ll probably need to pay a visit to the doctor, just in case.” She propped Ymir up, chubby legs dangling off the edge. She was still too young and not strong enough to sit up straight on her own. “Can’t take any chances with babies. They’re delicate little things.”

Ymir babbled, thinking that Historia was speaking to her. Eren returned to his seat by Historia’s side on the floor, pulling up his leg. He nursed on a sip of her mate.

She showered her baby in butterfly kisses before planting one on her forehead. “Stinky butt.” She jeered.

Ymir squealed, shoving her tiny fist in her mouth, toothless gums chomping.

She’d grabbed his hand earlier when she’d been crawling on his hardwood floor, no particular destination in mind—just a greedy little thing wanting to memorize this new and much bigger place. She thought his hands were just one of her toys to chew on. Her tiny hands held onto his.

She’d stuck it in her mouth, testing, gums gnawing. It felt weird, and Ymir didn’t enjoy it either. Her face scrunched in the utmost confusion and disgust. She tossed his hand away without another look and crawled somewhere else. Historia had looked on with a face she couldn’t decipher, but her eyes were slightly wet. It made his stomach do all kinds of familiar summersaults.

“Baby,” Historia announced, and Eren flicked back to the present. He watched her mouth move, exaggerating the motions of her lips.

Ymir blinked, eyes slightly narrowing. Her barely-there brows furrowed in a way that made Eren grin because it reminded him so much of Historia. Ymir leaned closer, pressing her lips together.

“C’mon,” Historia coaxed soothingly. “Bae-bee.”

Ymir giggled, bouncing on the table.

Historia sighed, drooping her head slightly. “Not today, I guess.”

“She’s still too young,” Eren found himself saying.

Ymir followed his voice, squinting at him.

Historia glared at him playfully. “So you read a few books and think you’re some expert now, papito?”

“ _ No _ .” Eren scratched his heated neck, sipped on some more of the mate. Puerto Rican’s mostly nursed Malta, but mate was pretty okay. Supposedly better than coffee, and Eren knew he needed to cut back on caffeine. “I’m just…  _ saying _ .”

She grinned broadly. “Aww! Don’t be embarrassed!” She squished her cheeks against Ymir’s. Besides her eye color, Lukas had nothing to do with her. “It’s nice that you read those books.”

Historia didn’t say it, but Eren heard it. Saw that twinge of sadness hidden beneath the cheerful face she feigned.

Lukas never did. She’d bought those books for him, not Eren.

He might not have been shocked about Historia’s pregnancy, but Eren  _ had _ been shocked that she’d planned to move out. And move in with him. She thought the baby would be an inconvenience to Eren. And that things would only get weirder between them now that they were broken up, and she’d found someone else.

Didn’t seem like it mattered. She was always meant to be here.

Historia deposited Ymir on the hardwood. His eyes darted between her and Historia. It’d only been two weeks since they found each other again. Historia looked ten times better, fuller, though he couldn’t tell the full extent right now with her wearing his shirt. But the blush was back in her cheeks, her wrists were slim but not bones anymore.

He’d missed her so much.

“Do you…” He started under his breath, then cleared his throat. “Do you want me to go with you?”

She faced him, brows drawn low. Skeptical. Guarded in a way he’d never had directed at him before. “You don’t have to,” Historia said slowly. “You have school—”

“Break, remember?”

Historia rolled her eyes. “But you have work.”

Eren shrugged. “I don’t mind. I can swap shifts for a day.”

“I can go by myself.”

He faltered at her insistent tone. “Okay.”

The almost four-month-old filled the awkward silence with her excited shrieks, crawling to her array of colorful toys secured in her playpen. She wasn’t supposed to be crawling yet, but she was her mother’s daughter. Therefore, an overachiever. She’d be talking in no time. Eren didn’t like putting her in the playpen if he was present, but he understood why Historia did. Minimize the mess. But it didn’t bother him.

Strange agitation aside, Historia stayed rooted in her spot. The most she did was tuck her legs to one side and plant her head on his arm. Ingrained habit sprang through him, wanting to wind his arm around her waist, hold her close. He didn’t.

Whatever  _ this _ was, Eren knew it wasn’t forever. Historia made it perfectly clear the night he brought her back that she didn’t plan to stay long. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself. But it was scary how it was  _ almost _ like it used to be. Back when they were roommates.

Both of them had weekends off from school and would sit in their living room. Binge-watch whatever show was popular on Netflix, ignoring their friends’ texts and phone calls, passing a bag of Taki’s and salsa tapatio. Historia would nearly burn her tongue off and cry because he’d dare her to put more, and she was never one to back down from a challenge. They’d laugh and horror movies and grumble about cheesy romcom’s stocked with bad tropes. When she’d get really bored, she’d climb onto his lap and kiss him silly, red peppers and acid bursting on his tongue, slowly grinding on him until he slipped his hand in her shorts and find her already wet for him.

Except now there was a tiny third party member, sitting slumped, and growing more and more frustrated by the second that she couldn’t lift the gate to get back to her toys. Ymir heaved a frustrated sigh and started crawling back to them.

He never did mind having her here from the beginning. Even if she wasn’t his.

“Would you really go with me?” Historia asked softly.

Eren nodded slowly against her hair and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.


	3. Chapter 3

He was having a bad night.

Nightmares about metal grinding, glass shattering, and airbags kept invading his sleep. They hadn’t been as frequent ever since Historia moved in, but Eren never expected them to fully go away. He’d have to live with them.

He had an exam for political science in a couple of hours, his textbooks still open on his coffee table, but Eren couldn’t go back to sleep. He wasn’t worried, just annoyed. Every toss and turn on his leather sofa created this annoying sound that sounded like a fart. He was surprised Historia didn’t wake up. She must be exhausted. If his mother ever found out he took the plastic off the couch, she’d shuck her chancleta at him so quick—it didn't matter that the apartment and most of his furniture, this couch included, were all under Eren’s name.

So it came as a wash of relief when Ymir softly cried. It gave him something to do, something to put his mind to when gaming apps weren’t cutting it. He could barely concentrate. Eren closed out and checked the time. A little after two in the morning.

Ymir was usually a great sleeper, better than most babies. Historia noticed something was wrong when Ymir wouldn’t stop crying no matter what either of them did to pacify her, and she fought tooth and nail to be put to bed. She calmed a little whenever Eren held her. But lately, she hadn’t fisted his hair like she normally did, yanking on it like he was a giant light bulb.

And then that hideous, dry cough started, which got Eren feeling some type of way. Historia didn’t object about letting him tag along to the doctor’s again, but Eren caught her weary glances—especially when Ymir  _ refused _ to be taken from his arms.

He’d never seen that look on Historia’s face. So full of helplessness.

He took his phone with him, switched on the light, and padded softly down his dark hallway. The door to his room was wide open, Historia drooling away on his king-sized bed. He shook his head with a smile.

Ymir’s room used to be Historia’s fruit-punch walled room. After she moved out, Eren transformed it into an almost cool-blue replica of his father’s study. As an International Relations major, he needed all the space he could get, and a couch wasn’t the most comfortable of places. Didn’t matter now. Historia had taken his mahogany desk and his MacBook—not that he minded. She’d recently got hired for at-home consultations and he hadn’t seen her so happy in a while.

Ymir’s crib and a rocking chair inhabited the other side of the room. Lukas had been  _ decent enough _ to stop by and drop off the rest of Historia and Ymir’s stuff on an afternoon Eren had classed and rushed to cover someone else’s shift at work.

Good thing, too. Because if he ever saw that asshole again, he wouldn’t hesitate.

“Hey,” Eren greeted softly, pocketing his phone. Her starry night light was still glowing in the corner of her room, and the moonlight spilling through the window next to the crib was enough to help him adjust to the room. He switched on the mobile, a lullaby he’d never heard before twinkling on while the hanging butterflies and caterpillars spun slowly. “You’re not gonna feel better if you don’t get any sleep. Don’t fight it so much.”

Ymir wiggled around, tiny hands curled into equally tiny fists. She made a whine of protest.

He leaned on the rail, running a finger on her cheek. Her cheeks were soaked, and she was running a fever still. “Mamá says I gotta stop picking you up so much,” Eren grinned. “I think she’s jealous you like me more.”

She sniffed, staring up at him with big, pleading eyes pooling with unshed tears.

“Ymir, I can’t. She said no.”

She blinked, a soft whine spilling from her mouth.

He slumped. “Okay, okay.” Eren checked her diaper, a little heavy. He quickly changed her, replaced her damp onesie with a clean one. Wiped off the mocos drenched across her upper lip.

He scooped her up by the armpits, cradling her against him. “Better?”

She whined, her fist curling on his shirt. Since she was quiet, Eren assumed it was a ‘yes’ in baby speak. He spun on his heel and froze.

He thought he’d thrown his father’s guitar away. But there it was—tucked into the very corner of the room, propped like an invitation, an old memory he’d never get away from. Historia must’ve found it when she cleaned out some of his apartment—not that it was in bad shape, to begin with. She could be a little bit of a clean-freak sometimes.

Eren shook his head. “If you feel better, I’ll give you some ice cream. You can’t tell mamá, though,” He whispered scandalously, heading towards the rocking chair. “You like strawberry, right?”

The hallway light switched on, blasting him in the face. Eren squinted.

“Eren?” She called from the threshold, rubbing her tired, sleepy eyes.

The white glow clashed against her haystack hair but silhouette her body like she was some apparition. He remembered guys in high school calling her a goddess but never really  _ got it _ until later. She still wore his shirts to bed even though she had plenty of her clothes now. It was his favorite Iron Maiden shirt, too and it was doing all kinds of fuzzy things to his head.

Historia blinked blearily, crossing into the room. Her face wrecked with alarm. “Hey, no. You don’t have to do that. Let me—”

“I got this,” He leaned back before she could get her grubby hands in. Eren adjusted Ymir in his arm, curling his forearm under her diaper-clad bottom, propping her into a semi-sitting position against him. “Vaporu and Sprite should go the trick. Go back to sleep.”

Her face fell. Historia clubbed her hands on her hips. “Okay. First of all, she’s my kid. If I want her, I get her.”

“Depends if you can reach,” Eren sing-songed.

Historia clamped her lips shut for a brief second. She didn’t find it funny—though he wasn’t sure which part.

Historia continued, “Second of all, I love mami, I do, but she’s  _ wrong. _ Vaporu can’t cure-all. It’s a complete myth. She needs Tylenol. And third,” Historia poked his cheek, her finger brushing along the hair adorning his jawline. His breath hitched. It was over in a second. “You have school in the morning. You need to go back to bed.”

A reasonable argument. “Well,  _ mamá, _ that’s not happening any time soon.”

Historia paused. She knew about his nightmares. He’d woken up screaming twice. “Oh.”

He didn’t like that look on her face. “It’s fine, Historia.”

It wasn’t fine with her. It was all over her face. But Historia didn’t pester, instead, reaching out. “Just give her to me and I’ll—”

Ymir coughed into his neck. “Let’s get the Tylenol.”

“Eren—”

He was tired, but he’d never tell her that. “Historia,” Eren said gently. “She’s more important. Let’s go.”

She gave him a long, indecipherable look. When Eren walked out, she followed.

When he’d first bought the apartment, Mikasa had stopped by unannounced—the way she used to do with most things concerning him—and dropped off a stack of their mother’s recipes. He’d tacked them onto the fridge, and every once in awhile, Historia liked to follow them. She went for his mother’s sopa de pollo recipe. Nothing he ever made tasted as good as the way his mother made it. Or Mikasa. Even Armin was a better cook than him. There was something about measuring ingredients that he just couldn’t follow thoroughly.

Eren helped as much as he could, the task at hand more important than these memories avalanching through him. He needed to breathe, needed the distraction. He wanted to shred the chicken himself—knew how to do that one thing well, at least—and cut the carrots into pieces that would be edible for Ymir, but it was a little difficult doing this and holding her at the same time.

His apartment perforated with the scents of cumin and chicken broth and carrots. It was so much like being at home with his parents. He didn’t think this would be so hard. The quietude shattered when Ymir woke up in another one of her coughing fits, spooking the three of them. She cried in confusion. Eren gently shoved an ice-cold pacifier from the freezer into her mouth.

Historia ended up banishing him when he proved to be of no real use. She ordered him to put Ymir in her high-chair. He didn’t, taking a seat on one of his stools, propping Ymir on his thigh. She fussed and whined lowly, and coughed on him some more while he bounced her on his leg, trying to keep her awake. He tried talking to her more but she could barely keep her eyes open.

The wait was worth it because, damn. He didn’t know what else Historia added, but her soup tasted so much better than his mother’s.

Historia wasn’t keen on Ymir being out of her chair for feeding, so she tried setting Ymir in herself. Her baby let out the most gut-curling scream the second Historia tried to take her away from him. He felt so bad, and like an absolute shit-head when Historia flushed beet-red.

Eren chewed on his lip, but Historia didn’t say anything. Didn’t even meet his eyes. He watched her blow on the plastic spoon with a puddle of liquid until the swirling steam vanished. She gingerly held the warm contents up to Ymir’s mouth. The baby graciously accepted it. She was too young to hold the spoon on her own but that didn’t stop her from trying to yank it out of Historia’s hand—a signal she wanted more.

Eren was happy she was eating. It’d been difficult to feed her during this fever.

Historia gave her two more cautious spoonfuls before she slipped the dosage Ymir needed. She fed her the rest of the soup. He tucked his cheek on his palm, steadying Ymir with one arm around her.

Her eyes flicked to him. Historia flushed, pointedly looking away. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” She said, wiping Ymir’s face with her bib.

“What?”

“I started looking at apartments,” She divulged out of absolutely  _ nowhere _ . A boulder plunged in his warm, sated stomach. A coldness stung. “There’s a couple of decent places around here. One bedroom places,” She smiled at Ymir. “Just me and here—”

“Why?”

Historia blinked at his outburst.

Eren winced internally. He sounded angry. But he felt so fucking stupid. He  _ knew _ this... arrangement wouldn’t last forever. It was stupid to think it would. Historia never  _ needed _ him. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it. He liked coming home to them. Was this how his dad felt every day?

Historia pried Ymir away from him. It felt like a slap in the face even though it wasn’t malicious. It was just to burp her. He could’ve done that,  _ knew _ how to do that,  _ had _ done that several times already. But she was always holding herself and Ymir at a distance from him.

Her eyes wore that same guard he saw months ago. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

“I mean—” Eren stopped. Ground his jaw. His hands were free so he rubbed his itchy neck. “Never mind,” He said. “It’s not important.”

“Claro que importa, Eren.” She retorted softly.

Eren wanted to lean back but it was a stool. Nothing but open-air behind him, the hardwood beneath him, should he fall. He’d already fallen plenty of times in the last year. Sometimes he wondered why he was still alive. Historia and her baby made the thought occur less and less until it felt like only a whisper of a former life. Until he remembered. The few family photographs he had dotting his apartment never let him forget what he once used to be. What he once used to have.

Eren straightened his spine, squared his shoulders. He exhaled a tense breath. “I… want you to stay.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I know we can’t go back to the way things were before, but we could…” He wasn’t sure.

Another flash of alarm darkened her face. “I can’t stay.”

“I’m not forcing you, Historia,” He said gently. “I just think it’d be easier for—”

“No,” Historia interrupted, shaking her head. “No, no es fácil, Eren. Don’t think that for one second.” She pointed around to what was once her apartment, too. Her touch was still everywhere, in the air. “You think this is  _ easy  _ for me _? _ You think I like being here like this? Feeling like a helpless little girl again?”

His brows snapped. Eren frowned. “I’ve never thought of you like that,” He said. “You’ve never needed me, Historia. It’s one of the things I love about you. You just needed help for the time being.”

Her face winded in misery. “Eren…” Historia breathed deeply, steeling herself. “I don’t think you fully understand what this—” She indicated to Ymir. “—entails. She’s a life commitment. She’s not… She’s not some pet you can dress up and play with and then toss aside when you get bored.”

He gaped. Then, Eren scoffed. He understood now. “Historia. I’ve always wanted her. Just as much as you.” Eren said, resolute. “The second you told me, I wanted her—I didn’t give a shit that she wasn’t mine. _I_ _wanted both of you to stay.”_ Historia looked about ready to bawl, her resolve being torn away by him. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. “He’s the one that lied to you, Historia—not me.”

Her teeth flashed, but she bit her quivering bottom lip. “We’re not the same anymore, Eren,” She said morosely, looking at the marble island. “Nothing is. It’s never gonna go back to the way it was before we…”

His heart squeezed. “Yeah. I know.” He laced his hands together on the kitchen island, holding her eyes. “Nothing’s changed for me, you know.”

Historia’s eyes grew large.

Eren could almost laugh. They were so weirdly alike, two peas in a fucked up pod, but she could never get used to the way he paraded around the world with his heart on his sleeve. Their breakup was  _ supposed _ to be amicable, but he’d honestly been devastated at how she’d dropped him. But he didn’t blame her for it. He knew he was a lot to handle. He could be too intense, too demanding, too much of everything.

But she was right—he was different now. Now his entire world had plunged him into many sleepless nights, full of reading mass texts and rewriting notes over and over until his wrist hurt and his eyes went sore. This black grief muddling his heart shifted just a little bit whenever Historia and Ymir were around. And he’d fight to the death before they left him again.

“No matter what I feel about you, Historia, you’re still my friend. You’ve always been like my best friend,” He confessed. “And if that’s all you want, fine—but I want to help you. Just because I can. Because it’s how I’ve always been. No double meaning. You’re not a charity case.”

She stayed silent, just assessing him. Ymir had fallen asleep with her head tucked into the crook of her mother’s neck.

Eren sighed, dropping his head. “I need you, Historia.” He raked his hands through his hair, his leg still bouncing on the stool bar. “Please, just… Stay with me,” He breathed, but it was hard. “No quiero estar solo nunca más.”

He didn’t have to look up to know her eyes were equally bright. They set fire to his skull. “I can’t replace what you lost, Eren.” She choked.

He nodded in understanding, his eyes fixed on the hardwood floor. He needed to polish it soon. “I know,” Eren agreed. “But you’re… You’re a missing piece. And now you’re back. That’s… That’s a good sign. I know it is.”

Too much time passed. Historia didn’t say a word. He honestly thought she’d left him high and dry. Eren wouldn’t have blamed her. Maybe his sleepless nights were making him delirious.

But she was there—winding her arm around his shoulder, her hand cradling the back of his neck, guiding his head to her shoulder. She scratched his scalp reassuringly. Ymir sighed in content.

His eyes slid to a close. He hadn’t had a hug in so long—never realized how much he needed one until he was in her embrace, breathing her in, sinking into her warmth. Eren just let go. He tried not to lean in too much, scared of crushing Ymir.

“You’re my friend too, ya know?” She whispered into his hair, squeezing him to her tightly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, bichito.”

“You’re here now.”

She chuckled, but there was a choke of despondency underlying it. “But I feel like I abandoned you. I should’ve checked on you.”

“You had your own life, Historia. I understood,” His hands cupped her tiny waist, rubbing it up and down gently. “I really wish you wouldn’t leave again. But if you want to, I get it. I can’t stop you.”

“No hagas eso, Eren,” She chided, pulling away from him all too soon, but her thumb traced his cheek. He leaned into her gentle caress. “I’ll always worry about you. You’ve changed so much.”

She’d said it once already, but his mother noticed too. He video-chatted with her on Christmas Day. She was down in Florida, visiting one of her friends. She put on a well-crafted, brave face for him. But her mask crumbled once their pleasantries were over and done with. She’d rushed to the bathroom, still with him on the phone, and  _ sobbed _ .  _ Te pareces tanto a tu padre, _ she’d managed to choke out, the tears raining down her cheeks. Eren didn’t know what to say, other than to wonder if he could ever be half the man his old man had been.

Eren bowed his head. “I’m sorry I’m so pushy.” That was his downfall last time. He didn’t want to drive her away again.

Historia snorted, pulling him to her again. He wrapped his arms around her this time, holding her, holding Ymir. “I know you mean well, Eren,” She said, then paused. “I’m just scared.”

“Aren’t we all?” He muttered.

“ ¿ Lo sabes todo, eh, papito?” She chortled into his hair. Her voice softened considerably. “Give me some time to think about it, okay?” Historia asked. “I’m still going to look at places in the meantime.”

Eren nodded softly, squeezing his stinging eyes shut. Time was a funny concept for him. It continued onward for him. For his mom. Historia left and came back. And it ended for those he lost.


	4. Chapter 4

It started little. Simple.

Feeding her, by himself. Changing her diapers more often, by himself. Putting her to sleep, by himself. Sometimes Historia let him watch her while she took a jog around the block or picked up groceries. Sometimes he caught her passing through the window. Or picked up groceries. She was never gone for more than ten or twenty minutes. Eren guessed it was her way of testing him. That was fine. He liked tests he’d studied for.

It didn’t take long for it to transition into bigger responsibilities.

She’d been taking up more grocery errands. Feeding him and this baby proved to be Historia’s biggest challenge, now that Ymir was starting to dribble into solid foods. Now he put Ymir to sleep most nights, sometimes falling asleep with her on the rocking chair. Still teething, Ymir was entering that infamous must-grab-everything-and-immediately-shove-it-into-my-mouth stage. Eren baby-proofed his cabinets, started rearranging furniture, swiping the floor more than usual, dusting everywhere meticulously. He didn’t want Ymir to get sick again.

He was exhausted all the time. Some days it was hard to get off the couch. But Eren had to keep going. And it didn’t matter how he felt. All the momentary distress was worth it when Ymir beamed at him; that tooth growing in, and those deep dimples flaring. What kind of man was stupid enough to walk out of this baby’s life? Couldn’t be him. And those guys didn’t even deserve to be called men as far as Eren was concerned.

Around the time Ymir hit seven months, her babbles were beginning to clear. It was early, but Historia was so excited.

Until Ymir said her first clear word.

The very first time she’d said it, he was home. Historia wasn’t. She out stocking up on groceries for the next two weeks that particular Sunday. He’d been washing dishes when Ymir crashed her baby walker into his shin, looked up at him, and proclaimed it.

He’d almost dropped the glass plate he’d been drying with a paper towel, torn between laughing or attempting to reprimand her. Eren had furrowed his brows, carefully placing the plate in the dish rack. “What’d you say, mamita?”

But Ymir hadn’t answered. She giggled cutely, and spun the walker, squealing the whole way to his living room like she’d been caught with her hand down the cookie jar. He wouldn’t have to worry about  _ that _ for a couple of more years. But, damn. She’d said  _ that _ word. Eren had grimaced. It was only a matter of time before she blurted it in front of Historia.

He shut off his music then. Still. Eren had  _ desperately _ wanted to see Historia’s face. But Ymir hadn’t said it again all day, no matter how much Eren pressed her.

Historia made dinner that night—arroz con salchichas, one of his favorites, and, once again, it came out so much better than his mother’s. Ymir had picked  _ that _ moment to say it, when everything was calm and tranquil and smelling so good.

If Historia were a cartoon character, her jaw would’ve  _ ping _ ed on the floor. The plastic spoon had fallen from her hands, the yellow rice and cut and cooked pork sausages splattering all over the hardwood. Ymir repeated it once more in a fit of giggles when Historia asked a second time.

Eren had the decency to look scandalized when she cast a deadly glare at him. It would’ve sent him straight to the fiery pits of hell—if only he didn’t find her so cute.

But Historia hadn’t stopped glaring at him since that night.

Now, the almost eight-month hold giggled hysterically in their porcelain bathtub, secured in a floaty made for pools. Historia had drawn the water higher than normal for Ymir, opting to take a bath with her daughter since she noticed the water bill kept increasing. Eren didn’t care. But she also made a point that the floaty would strengthen Ymir’s legs, assist her in her journey to walk now that she was becoming more and more mobile.

Covered in suds from her chunky arms to her shoulders, to the pouf on the top of her head that Eren sculpted into a mohawk—much to Historia’s annoyance—reached for the yellow rubber duck. She offered it to him. “¡Culo!”

Eren grinned, tugging her ear. “That’s right! Good job, mamita.” He’d rub her head like he always did, but he’d worked too hard on that mohawk.

She squealed, splashing the water.

Historia groaned, stomping her feet underwater. “No, querida, ¡no le escuches! That’s a duck. Un pato.” She corrected, working the rubber loose from Ymir’s grubby hands, much to her daughter’s immediate dismay. “Duck. Say duck. Duh-ck.”

Ymir slowly waddled around. She reached for the toy.

“No.” Historia moved it away from her, wagging a finger in front of her. Ymir’s face went wrecked. “Not until you say it. Duck.”

“Da!” Ymir screamed.

“Almost!” Historia nodded slow, deliberate. “Duh.”

The babe pressed her lips together.

Historia mimed the motions of her mouth. “Duh.” She repeated.

“Duh!”

“Ck.”

Ymir took a second. “Ck!”

“Duh-ck. Duh-ck. Duck.”

Ymir beamed. “¡Culo!”

Eren coughed roughly into his elbow.

Her mother pursed her lips, sliding her narrowed eyes to him. Her nostrils flared adorably. Defeated, Historia handed Ymir the toy. “Te odio  _ tantísimo _ en este momento.” She stressed.

He grinned even wider, squishing her cheeks with one hand. “Te quiero mucho, enana.”

She frowned deeply, ripping her face away from his hold. She folded her arms across her sud-covered chest. The action only succeeded in bunching her breasts higher. Motherhood didn’t add much that wasn’t already there. She’d always been soft with a hint of curves. “This is all your fault.”

“Are you kidding—this is  _ amazing. _ This is my crowning achievement in life.”

Historia threw him another glare. “Do you have any idea how stupid I’m gonna look when I have to explain this? ‘Yeah, sorry about that. My ex-boyfriend, who’s like my kid’s dad, taught her how to say ‘culo’ ‘cause of all the bad music he listens to when I’m not home.”

Ymir giggled. “¡Culo!” She repeated, punching at the water. “¡Culo, culo, culo!”

Historia slammed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw tightly.

The smile wouldn’t leave his face. It almost hurt. He hadn’t smiled in so long. “I just hope I’m there when it happens,” He said.

Historia slapped the water in his face.

Ymir laughed, bouncing in her doughnut floaty, and banged on the water some more.

Eren wiped the water dripping down the side of his face with his sleeve. He still couldn’t wipe the grin. “If it’s of any consolation, she  _ did _ say ma-ma.”

“Ma-ma!” Ymir parroted, beaming.

Historia threw her hands up. “That’s  _ not  _ the same! She was  _ this _ —” She smooshed her thumb and index finger, leaving just a hair’s breadth of space between the pads. “—close to saying it without pause!” Historia jabbed her nail into his shoulder, a nail so sharp he felt it right on his skin like there wasn’t a flimsy piece of cotton between them. “But  _ you _ went and ruined it. Come mierda, forro.” She stuck her tongue at him.

He took her wet hand in his, sliding his thumb over her knuckles. “So… it’s cool for  _ you _ to curse around her, but I can’t—and I also can’t teach her to say butt?” He brought her hand to his face and pouted. “It’s a harmless word.”

She merely stared at him.

He batted his eyes. “Uh. I’m  _ really _ sorry?” Eren tried for the umpteenth time.

Historia’s lips twitched. A flush crawled through her cheeks that had nothing to do with the lukewarm water. She yanked her hand away. “You’re way too hot for your own good. They should lock you up.”

Eren smirked, and shrugged, knocking his head back on the wall.

“Just so you know,” She announced, pushing the floating toys—a boat, a creepy cathead, an octopus—towards Ymir. He felt  _ almost _ relieved when Historia leaned back in the tub. “You’re banned from playing Bad Bunny around her.”

“Ba-d!” She repeated.

“Yes,” Historia said. “ _ Bad. _ Maldito. Like Eren.”

He rolled his eyes.

The baby squinted at him. “Ba-d! We!”

That was as close as she could get to his name right now. Still, he loved it.

Eren grinned, shifting his legs. He poked Historia’s puffed cheek. “But you like Bad Bunny.”

“Ba-d!”

“I  _ do _ like him,” She admitted. “But you shouldn’t be playing him around her.” Historia pointed her fingers down, the water sprinkling on top of Ymir’s head. The mohawk slid away. Eren frowned but caught the sud before they could get into Ymir’s eyes. “He’s not child-appropriate.”

“So, what—you’d rather I play heavy metal? That can  _ easily _ be arranged.”

Historia leveled him with a triumphant look. “What you  _ should _ do is keep playing music for her. She really likes it when you do.”

His brows snapped together. Until he realized what Historia meant.

His jaw dropped. “You were supposed to be working!”

She grinned coyly. “It’s not like I meant to eavesdrop. I came right as you were finishing.” She toyed with a strand of wet hair. “And I waited a couple of minutes so it didn’t look like I’d heard most of it.”

He frowned, his cheeks hot.

Ymir couldn’t stop crying that day for reasons Eren couldn’t figure out. She wasn’t sick, and he didn’t want to bother Historia. He wanted to keep proving that she could trust him with her. The person he wanted to call was his dad.

So he… picked up his acoustic, not quite sure what was coming over him.

Eren had brought it to the living room, where Ymir had been stomping around in her baby walker, wailing at the top of her lungs, the tears like waterfalls down her cheeks. He played the first song that flew into his head and to the tips of his fingers—”Ciega, Sordomuda.”

Thirty seconds later, Ymir calmed, staring up at him in what he’d recognized then as dumbfounded amazement. It was that same expression she’d given him the night they met. And in the moment of the melody between his fingertips, Eren realized how much this was  _ her _ song— _ the _ song that encompassed every little emotion he didn’t know how to express towards this tiny creature. Ymir squealed and clapped furiously when he finished, a single she wanted more.

“I don’t know why I did that.” He admitted softly.

“What do you mean?” Historia probed, curious. “Didn’t it... feel good?”

“Yeah. It felt… I dunno, it felt like coming home? If that makes any sense…”

“It does,” Historia said, touching his forearm, nails scratching reassuringly. “You used to love playing guitar.” She smiled snidely. “I can’t believe you played her one of my favorite songs, though. You’ve never even sung it to me.”

Eren swallowed. “I didn’t even realize that.” He situated his chin on his forearm, staring over Ymir’s head, at the wall dripping condensation. “I haven’t played since…” He trailed off.

Historia’s eyes softened, taking her hand away. “Oh.”

Eren shrugged. “It was something my dad and I did together. I think I told you, but he was the one who taught me how to play. That was his guitar.” He grew weary. “I thought I threw it away.”

“I found it in your closet. Seems like mami put it there.” Out of the corner of his eye, Historia nodded slowly, mindlessly creating waves and sending them to Ymir’s sides. The baby was confused. “You should keep playing it, Eren. Give it a new meaning.”

This was as much of an approved bonding moment with Ymir as he’d ever get. But Eren shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think I can.”

He met her eyes, a gleam that cut right through him, to the deepest parts of his soul. “Por supuesto que puedes, Eren,” Her eyes lingered on him. “It’s what you do best—moving on. Giving things new meanings.” Historia turned away, picking up the mint green rag, and scrubbed Ymir’s back though it was squeaky clean.

The baby hunched her shoulders. She was ticklish like her mom. She tried kicking away. Historia kept one hand on her stomach, keeping her close, much to the baby’s growing frustration.

“Do you remember when you said it was a good sign that I came back?”

Eren nodded.

Historia nodded too, and continued, “Well… I think it was a good thing you found me when you did.” She bit her lip, hesitant. “Have you ever heard of postpartum depression?”

Eren squinted, the word vaguely familiar. “I think my mom went through that with me. She might’ve told me about it. Once.”

Historia huffed softly, her lips curving into a cynical smile. “And I imagine you didn’t pay very much attention.” She tickled Ymir’s back. The baby squealed, stomping her legs underwater, trying to get away from Historia. Her mother released her, but Eren intercepted the baby’s path before she could get her grubby hands on the shiny faucet knob.

“Yeah, yeah,” He rubbed his head. “I’m better about listening to my mom now.”

She grinned at him, but it didn’t last. “It’s a… condition that happens to some new mothers. I couldn’t eat. Put up a fight to breastfeed her. I couldn’t look at her. All I wanted to do was sleep and hope she’d stop crying, hope she’d just disappear. It was easy to be that way when I had nurses with me.”

His brows pinched. Her hips wobbled but Historia didn’t cry. She sucked in a deep breath and said, “It was the lowest I’ve ever felt. I never thought something like that would happen to me.” She tipped her head back, eyes on the ceiling until she slid them closed. “When Lukas took me home, it got so much worse.”

That night flashed through his mind like a warning signal he’d never noticed before. The  _ signs _ . He’d notice the difference in her right away but never linked it together. A shell of herself. Compared to now, she looked healthy. Content. Or so Eren could only hope.

She didn’t have to explain why she went off with Lukas instead of moving in with Sasha as she’d originally planned. The guy had sweet-talked her rotten; filled her head with daydreams about a perfect little family, outfitted with a cottage house close to the woods with a white picket fence and a clean front lawn he’d mow every morning. He talked of starry-eyed fantasies about financial stability and minivans and maybe even a few cats. All the things she’d been craving since she was a child.

But stars were just balls of gas that burned out eventually.

“You should’ve called me,” Eren blurted, wincing the instant it fell out of his mouth.

Historia’s lips twitched. She wasn’t mad, just… melancholy. “I did. Once. Mami told me you were in a coma.” Historia took another deep breath. “But I wish you were there the whole time,” She confessed quietly.

“I would’ve fainted.”

A laugh broke through. “True! But… I would’ve gotten a laugh out of it.” She smiled at him. Ymir trotted off towards the knob again “And at least you would’ve been there.”

The implication slammed into him. Eren wasn’t sure why it shocked him. It shouldn’t have. But maybe he just expected a shred of decency. “... He wasn’t there?”

Historia shook her head, leaning forward, scooping Ymir back to her. The baby sighed. “I was in labor for eighteen hours and he ‘didn’t have time right now’. He came a few days later.”

There was a saying in Spanish about giving birth.  _ Dando a luz. _ Giving light. The sentiment was nice and all, meant to express hope, but Eren knew it wasn’t always true. He thought of his mother, of Historia, of those books he read. Labor can be traumatizing. Historia was so strong to go through all this alone, even though she shouldn’t have had to. Eren  _ hated _ that she went through it alone. He promised he’d be there, and he wasn’t.

Sighing through his nostrils, Eren scooped up Ymir. The eight-month hold huffed a grumble of protest. She loved being in the water, yet another habit that came from mom, and hated getting out. He had a few, short seconds before she blew a fuse, screamed up a storm that would make his neighbor’s knock on his door. He dropped her in between his crossed legs and draped a dry towel over her head.

He ignored the heated way Historia eyed him, though it made his pulse race and his hands break into a sweat. Stayed on his kin. Sometimes he’d catch her wandering eyes when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. She’d come by and pet his hair whenever he was lounging on his couch and watching Ymir, still unaccustomed to it being so long and free. She’d rub his shoulders and make him mate whenever he was at the dinner table, studying. She hadn’t made a blatant move. And neither would he.

“Mami told me where you were.” Historia gathered her hair, forking her wet fingers through her equally wet hair like some kind of mermaid, before she swept it to the side, baring her neck. “I wanted to see you but I didn’t have the energy. And the nurses were always too busy.”

His head tilted. “My mom went to see you?” She never told him.

Historia grinned, water sluicing down her collarbone. Eren blinked, focusing on his task with Ymir, wiping off all the excess water. “Mami would’ve been  _ delighted _ to steal a wheelchair and take me herself.”

Yeah. His mom would do something like that. Eren smiled. “It’s okay, I understand.” Ymir wiggled in his hold, whining. “I just don’t get why she never told me she went to see you.”

“She didn’t want you to feel bad for not being there.” Her expression fell. “She knows how you feel about keeping your promises. You’d be too hard on yourself.”

Eren nodded. He bundled Ymir up like a small, chubby burrito, and exited the bathroom, leaving Historia to her bath. Sometimes his mother did know him best.


	5. Chapter 5

After six months of living on his couch, Eren got his bed back.

He’d been so bone-weary, dozing in and out of sleep with Ymir one night on her rocking chair. Work had sucked that day. Too many customers expecting former sale items to still be on sale. A day of rushing in and out of the stock room where Eren knew the _one_ item wouldn’t be there. He just wanted to come home, eat, and knock out. But he promised Historia to put Ymir to bed that night so she could sleep early for some appointment she had with Ymir the next morning. He wasn’t one to break his promises, so duty had called.

After he’d secured Ymir in her crib, Eren had stumbled into his living room, a headache raging in his skull like ping-pong balls, and flopped on the couch. In hindsight, the light had been similar to his living room lamp. But the couch was so unbelievably _soft_. And there were so many blankets. But Eren didn’t care. He was tired, and he wanted to sleep.

He’d woken up to Historia bopping his nose, asking what he wanted for lunch. Eren had squinted, thinking he’d misheard her. It couldn’t be lunch already, Ymir wasn’t up—then her familiar giggle floated to his room. She was watching _Mickey Mouse Clubhouse_ in his living room, the way she did most afternoons. Historia had laughed at the shocked expression crashing onto his face. She wasn’t mad that he didn’t go to the appointment.

And, Jesus, he’d still felt like a train wreck full of shit after he realized how long he’d slept for. Ten hours. He hadn’t slept _that_ long since he and Historia were roommates. Roommates for less than a couple of months, before things took a turn for the better. But still.

She’d put Ymir to bed that night. And after she’d finished, Historia took his hands and guided him back to his bed—what was once _their_ bed. She never told him to go away.

That was a week ago.

Now, Eren arrived home from a shift swap on Mother’s Day. He walked into an empty apartment. What was once golden and alive seemed so desolate, a barren desert, the sun gradually setting behind his drawn living room blinds.

He almost panicked.

Historia was usually here in the living room whenever he arrived, tucked into the armrest of the couch, reading some classic novel with all those run-on sentences that made his head swirl. Romeo Santos playing softly on her phone. Ymir would be running around his apartment on her baby walker, screaming hysterically like something was chasing her. Or stuck in her playpen, smashing her toys together while her program was on a commercial break.

It took an eternity to realize that the playpen had been picked up, propped against the side of the couch. Ymir’s toys had been collected, tucked in the plastic cabinets Historia had ordered some time ago online. The dishes were washed and put away. It smelled faintly of roses—the large, rectangular box from 1-800-Flowers in their space for recyclables. His shower was running.

Eren exhaled in relief.

Historia hadn’t brought up the topic of leaving again. The nightmares hadn’t gone away but now Historia was there to hold him through it. He was curious about how she felt now, but he wasn’t about to snoop. As much as he knew his browser history would provide the answer, Eren wouldn’t invade her privacy. If Historia wanted to leave, she’d tell him again. Since she hadn’t, that had to mean something. Right? 

He checked on Ymir. She was napping peacefully in her crib. She didn’t drool like mom, but she did snore softly.

Crossing into his room, Eren shed his work uniform. Dumped them in the half-full laundry hamper. He changed into some sweatpants. He flopped on the bed, his stomach resting against the cool fabric. Eren didn’t remember falling asleep.

Historia was there when he woke up. Wearing his Pink Floyd shirt, the hem brushing her knees. God. Her big eyes observed him softly like _he_ was a delicate thing. She lightly traced his face with a finger. She didn’t look away when he met her eyes. Her hair was still damp, perfuming the air around him with cocoa butter. So addictive—a shot of cafe Cubano, instantly waking him, his nerves flared.

Eren bit the inside of his cheek, rolling onto his side completely. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. But even he knew they’d been dancing around each other for weeks. Months. 

She beamed, plonking her head directly on his bicep, adjusting it rightly so. She used to love molding his arms around her—pillows for her head, blankets for her body. Eren never cared, just enjoyed the feeling of her being so close to him. Guess nothing changed in that regard in over a year.

“I forgot how warm you are,” She murmured, scooching closer. Historia ducked her head into the crook of his neck. She took his other arm and threw it around her waist. “You’re like a furnace. I never needed a blanket when we slept together.”

“I remember.” Hesitantly, Eren lazily twirled a strand of her daffodil hair around his index finger. “You never wanted to be near me during the summer, though.”

“That’s because it’s too hot to be cuddling!”

He half-smiled into her hair. “You seem happy today.”

She curled her arm around his waist. “I am!” She said, her hot breath tickling his neck. “It was a good day.” Historia breathed a content sigh.

“What time is it?”

“I dunno—like, two-thirty?” Her cold foot bunched up his pant leg, her toe stroking the exposed skin of his ankle. A shiver dipped down his spine, his breathing hitching. It was a sign—one Eren knew loud and clear. “You were sleeping when I got out of the shower.” Historia made a nudge with her head to the open door behind her. “She should be waking up pretty soon.”

Eren nodded. He wished this could last longer. He hadn’t been with Historia like this in so long. The closest they’d gotten to affection was that one night he woke up after another nightmare to her fist pressed against his cheek. Historia had a bad habit of thrashing around in her sleep. The only time she didn’t was when he held her. It felt amazing to hold her like this again. He wanted it to last longer.

“Did you talk to mami?” She mumbled, her nose brushing his collarbone.

“Claro.”

“Mhm,” She hummed. “Did you get her anything?”

“You think she’d ever let me live it down if I didn’t?”

“You’re right!” She giggled, pressing herself closer. She wasn’t wearing a bra, her soft breasts flush against his chest, and the familiarity of her body on his drove him wild. “Did you get her flowers, too?”

Eren swallowed. “Uh. Yeah. She’s a flower lady. And chocolate coated strawberries too.”

“I can’t believe you got me flowers.”

He blinked. “I thought you liked flowers?”

“It’s not that—of course I like flowers! What girl _doesn’t_?” She laughed, nuzzling him. “It’s just the last time I ever got flowers was… when I dated Ymir. Every Valentine’s Day, she’d make sure I had the prettiest bouquet. She was so good at all that spontaneous gifts stuff.”

“I do remember that year she got you sunflowers and roses.”

Historia bobbed her head. “It was _so_ cute, and all the girls were so jealous of me. A whole bunch of guys bought them next year, but Ymir had moved on. She never liked getting me the same combination twice.”

“She did like to show off.” Ymir was a weirdo. A little too weird for a normal girl like Historia, Eren always thought. But he liked her—from a distance. She’d been good to Historia; they’d been friends since they were kids, both in and out of the system. Eren hadn’t met Historia until halfway through high school when she transferred towards the end of her freshman year. Ymir had already been enrolled at the beginning of that same year, and they were inseparable.

There was a sad smile in her voice. “She did.”

Ymir was the only other person Historia had in the world, but the chick left her completely blindsided and behind when she bought a one-way ticket to France. She never returned or answered Historia’s texts, or calls, or even accepted her FaceBook friend request. Neither of them understood why.

Eren didn’t want her to wallow in sadness, and all the things that could’ve been—should’ve been for her, so he blurted, “I told the florist to write whatever she wanted on the card.”

Her laugh punched back. Historia raised her head, her rosy face just inches from his. “Don’t worry—I knew. It didn’t sound like you at all. Way too cheesy! Still,” She patted his cheek affectionately, that soft twinkle in her blue eyes undoing a string within him. “You get an ‘A’ for effort, papito.”

“Thanks,” He mumbled, his cheeks pink.

Historia licked her lips, pressed their noses together. Her eyes were playful, yet her tone was serious. “Did you pay attention to _what_ you got me, though?”

He fought to steady his breathing, get his dry throat under control. He hadn’t felt like a teenager in so long, Eren didn’t know how to handle this tidal wave of emotions coursing through him. “... Do you want me to be completely honest?”

She brushed some of his hair away from his temples. “Claro que si.” Historia poked his cheek.

“No.” Historia giggled straight from her stomach, loud enough to wake Ymir. Her child was a light sleeper compared to her. “ _Shh!_ Stop!” He covered her mouth. “I was in a rush and completely forgot it was Mother’s Day until I heard it on the radio,” He blubbered. Crinkles lined Historia’s eyes from how funny she found this. “I told the florist you were my friend… I _thought_ that was enough…”

Eren lowered his hand. “Maybe she got the wrong idea when I said we live together?”

“ _Oooh_ ,” Historia said knowingly. “She _definitely_ got the wrong idea,” Her eyes sparkled with unapologetic amusement, her dimples flaring. “The next time you ever send a girl flowers, make sure you check it before you send it off. She would’ve put you in a very awkward spot—or maybe not! Depends.”

His face heated. Her teasing was relentless. He struggled to school his face. He failed, and it only made her laugh more. She was laughing so much today. “How bad was it—just tell me!”

“No,” She shook her head, biting her lip. “No, no no! On the contrary, ¡eran hermosa! Pink carnations, red roses. Hibiscus.” Historia explained like he knew what exactly it meant.

“Sure,” Eren nodded. “Let’s pretend I speak flowers.”

Historia sighed, looping her arms around his neck, fingers catching in his hair. “It’s a very romantic scheme. It’s not fitting at all for a Mother’s Day bouquet.”

His throat dried. Her hair slipped from his fingers. His heart sputtered, a beat-up generator waiting for the right kickstart. The look pooling in her eyes unsettled him. And it was impossible to ignore the heat of her body anymore. It would be _so_ simple and easy to close the distance, to crush this sliver of a gap between them.

But he didn’t. Eren couldn’t move. She gave him the perfect opening and he. Couldn’t. Move. A. Muscle. He didn’t understand _why_. He had no problems initiating their friendship. She had no issues initiating their relationship—and the same one to end it so abruptly. He didn’t fault her for it still. He was a handful. Could Historia handle it? Would she stay? Did he even deserve this, after all the damage he’d cause in his life, after all the things he didn’t do for her? He hated that guilt would never let him take a breather.

Historia noted his hesitance, pinching his cheek. “What’s going on in there?” Historia tapped his forehead.

“A lot,” Eren said. “Too much.”

Historia drowned. Dios mio, he wanted to kiss her so badly. It went beyond wanting. He ached for it. She perked back up. “Can you stop it for a few minutes? It’s ruining the moment I’m trying to have with you.”

He winced. “Sorry…” But what else could he say? Did she want him to repeat what she already knew?

Historia touched his cheek, so light, so careful. She kissed him—her lips soft and dry. He couldn’t even think. His brain snapped like a twig.

She pulled back before he could have a proper reaction, way too many emotions toppling through him at once. More than he knew how to handle right now. He just wanted to feel them on him again.

Her eyes were suddenly full of an ocean’s sorrow. She felt it too, the same electric stream between them that had never disappeared. “Would you have waited for me?”

Eren opened his mouth. Closed it. “Maybe,” He finally managed. “I’m… No estoy seguro.” He bit the inside of his cheek, avoiding her intensity for just a second. He never considered it _waiting._ He just wanted Historia here, and she was. He didn’t know what would’ve happened if she’d found someone else. He didn’t want to find out, either.

“I didn’t ask to take care of her just so we could get back together,” He clarified, meeting her open eyes; that guard she’d had before _finally_ squashed to debris. “I don’t expect brownie points for doing the thing every guy who gets a girl pregnant should naturally do, you know? Aún te amo, nada ha cambiado para mí. That’s all.”

“Entiendo,” She confirmed, smiling softly. “But I guess we’re both lucky you didn’t have to wait longer. Aún te amo, Eren. I’m sorry for leaving.”

He was a goner.

“Why did you leave?” Before Historia could open her mouth to say what he already figured, Eren added, “I know it wasn’t because of her. What’s the real reason?”

She ducked her head. With his arms around her, there was nowhere Historia could go, nowhere to hide. “Eren…” She started, sighing deeply, weary. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Someone who accepted every part of me, even those fucked up parts without a second thought.” She looked at him, her eyes wrecked with the heartache she’d caused him, caused herself. “I just… I got so scared. That you’d…. That you’d get tired of me. Everyone I’ve ever cared about left me, except for you, and I—”

Eren surged; his mouth furious on hers, lavishing her with kisses that had been lost in the time they’d been apart. Historia returned them, always as eager, his heart skipping under her dainty fingers cupping his face. He was already so hazy, so dizzy, his skin searing wherever she touched. He hoped it’d be everywhere.

His hand around her waist trailed down, groping her pert ass. Historia gasped against his mouth, parting just enough for him to slide his tongue inside and devour her. She scraped her nails against his scalp. Eren groaned into her mouth, his fingers twisting the fabric of her panties, pulling it. He could tell she was wearing those cheeky Victoria Secret panties he liked. He wanted to rip them off. But not yet.

Eren shifted, moving her under him with barely any effort. Historia was so lightweight, so malleable—all porcelain skin and the softest curves. Her recently manicured nails dug into his shoulders, her tongue swirling against his. He grunted, heat already bundling tightly in his stomach. He couldn’t believe this was happening again, but he didn’t want it to stop— _prayed_ it wouldn’t stop.

She didn’t stop kissing him, not even when his hands moved down her neck, skimming across her fine shoulders, down to her chest. He gave her breasts a nice squeeze through her shirt and Historia mewled in approval, arching into him. His hands slipped under, bunching her shirt up.

Historia wrenched away, lightly guiding his hands away by holding his wrists. “Eren,” She whispered, breathless as he felt, her pupils blown wide. “Espera.”

Eren reeled back slightly. He glanced down—his Pink Floyd shirt rumpled right under the swell of her breasts, her red and black checkered panties revealed to him. The faint stretch marks that the coconut lotion hadn’t healed yet. His eyes darted back to her face. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah! Yes,” She assured, smiling. “I just wanna keep the shirt on for right now.”

His head tilted slightly in confusion. Eren didn’t get it—he’d seen her naked more times than he could count. They had _a lot_ of sex. He knew her body inside out. But he didn’t argue. “Can I touch you under the shirt?”

Biting her lip, Historia nodded, guiding his hand herself.

He kissed her hand, thumb brushing her nipple. She moaned into his mouth, her nails scratching his facial hair until they slid behind his head again—this time to unwind his hair from the tie holding it up. His black curtain tumbled over his shoulders, and Historia wasted no time in fisting it, making him groan in her mouth. She didn’t have to say it but she was super into his look. Eren still caught her staring at him. He’d seen some YouTube videos of toddlers freaking out when their dads shaved off their beards, cut their hair. He didn’t have a massive beard like they did, but still. He wondered how Ymir would react sometimes. If she would scream and cry like those babies.

Something told him Historia would. Way more than Ymir.

Eren moved his kisses to her neck, his hand trailing down to where they both wanted him most. His touches made her squirm, and scratch, and keep pulling on his hair. He loved it. He parted her panties to the side, his fingers teasing her entrance. She was wet for him already.

“Ay, pendejo,” She moaned, tipping her head back, granting him even more access. He loved marking her up. Her skin blemished so easily. She tasted faintly of body soap and a little salty from sweat. “I hate it when you tease me.”

She meant to pester but her tone quivered like her thighs he pushed apart with his knee, giving his fingers more freedom to roam. “Pero me encanta cuando me pidas,” He murmured, raising his head, watching her face wracked with pleasure.

She licked her lips, locking her half-lidded eyes to his. “Sí,” A sound that was a mix of a huff and a pant. “Pero... We d—don’t have a lot of time—” Her eyes slammed shut when his thumb brushed her clit. Historia writhed, her fingers grasping his shirt in fistfuls. He slipped a finger inside, pumping slowly. She was so _tight._ “—t—to be messing around... Oh, _fuck_ …” Historia bit her lip, rocking to the rhythm of his fingers. Slipped a second in. Her jaw clenched tight. “Ymir’s gonna… _Hmm_...”

He stopped—much to Historia’s disappointed whine. “Right.”

Eren slid down, dragging her panties down with him. Throwing them God knows where. He grabbed his thighs, burying his head between them with no preamble.

Historia gasped, her hands flying into his hair when he licked a straight line up her damp folds. “Oh, my—”

Eren slapped his hand over her mouth. She stared at him in surprise. He hooked one of her thighs over his shoulders. “No grites,” He commanded. “She’ll wake up.”

Her eyes strayed to the open door. Historia moaned in disapproval but obeyed his command, nodding into his palm. Eren let her go, splaying her other leg.

Time was of the essence. He couldn’t play around with her as much as he wanted. Eren latched onto her clit, and Historia gnashed onto her bottom lip, pulling it taut between her white teeth. It was sad they had to keep it quiet. Historia was a screamer and he loved every second of it. He’d love nothing more than to hear her cry for him again, add it to a jar and seal it with his collection of her—especially when he scraped her bundle of nerves with his teeth just the way she liked it. Historia bucked, shoving his face farther into her.

He didn’t hold her down like usual. One hand held her thigh open. The other fell from her face and snuck under her shirt, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipple. She had the freedom to undulate her hips against his tongue, and she greedily accepted the invitation. She was close already, that telltale sign of her clawing his scalp, her back starting to arch in that perfect bowed angle. He liked the crude way she handled him, that electric feel chasing down his spine when she twisted and yanked on his hair.

“Así, Eren,” She whispered, the heel of her foot digging into his shoulder blade. “Estoy cerca. No pares.” Historia hummed in satisfaction. “Por favor, papito.”

Eren tried not to smirk, lapping at her wetness. She’d never been shy about telling him what she wanted. He didn’t think there’d ever be an exception. “You still taste so good, baby.”

She keened, her hand holding onto his wrist like he was her anchor. He squeezed her breast a little harder, flicked his tongue over her clit before taking it once again into his mouth, and sucking. The lean muscles in her thigh trembled, her body fastening in anticipation. Eren removed his hand from her thigh, brought his fingers into the mix, teasing her entrance. Historia came undone before he could slip his finger inside again. Her lips parted in a choked moan that shot straight to his already aching groin.

Eren set her leg down, raising himself on his knees. He licked his lips. “Can I put it in?”

She slowly met his eyes, dizzy with hunger. “Yes,” Historia rasped through a heaving chest. “I want you.”

He kicked off his sweats quickly, discarding his shirt, tossing it away. The room was freezing, goosebumps pricking his skin from the cold and the anticipation. Eren leaned on his haunches, knees spreading her thighs, creating a cradle of space for him. He relished in the soft moan, the needy look fogging her eyes, the shiver that passed through her entire body when he dragged the head along her damp folds.

Historia groaned in disappointment. He wasn’t supposed to take it slow, but he’d always loved teasing her, and old habits died hard. He couldn’t help it. He liked building her up, building her high, until begged for him to push her over the edge, to finally collapse. Call him egotistical.

Her brows furrowed. She held onto his narrow hips, squeezing impatiently, moving her body in tandem to his teasing movements. Historia knocked her head back on his pillow in frustration. “Oh, c’mon!” She huffed. “Stick it already and fuck me!”

Eren grinned. “Siempre estás impaciente, enana.”

“Como si no estuviera, forro,” She retorted. “I don’t wanna be called that right now.”

“Sorry,” He bracketed his arms around her, distributing his weight on them. “You sure it’s okay?” He glanced down. “Even without—”

Historia surged, catching his lips in another kiss, holding his jaw between her fingers, enough to silence his worries. “Si, _papi_ ,” She taunted, pinching his nose, then settling back down comfortably. “It’s okay. I wanna feel you again.”

Eren frowned. Historia grinned, sneaking her hand down, past his abs, his happy trail. She brought it back to lick her palm, grabbing his length in a firm grip. She stroked him slow at first, adding corkscrew motions to the head. Her thumb passed over the slit, distributing his leaking wetness. “I’m on the pill again,” She whispered. “I haven’t missed. We’ll be fine.”

Eren shivered, stifling a grunt into her neck. Her touch was warm and soft, and she knew exactly how to work him. “ _Fuck_. You know I hate it when you call me that,” He muttered.

Historia nuzzled his hair, her breath hot on his ear. “One day you’ll like it,” She took his lobe between her teeth, nibbling on the piece of flesh. He trembled against her, chasing her strokes. “Can I tell you a gross story later?” She asked sweetly, batting her eyes.

“Yeah, later,” He agreed, raising his head to meet her heady eyes. Eren hauled her hand away from him, lacing their fingers together beside her head.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, her feet locking at the ankles behind the small of his back. Eren pushed in. Slow. Historia moaned, tugging him down to her in an urgent kiss. It was incredible, being inside her again.

“Holy shit.” He moaned against her mouth. She always needed a few seconds to adjust to him. “¡Qué apretada!”

Her brow quirked slightly. “What, did you think I’d be loose?”

It was a rhetorical question but Eren still made a squeamish face.

She sneered weakly, punching his bicep. “It’s gonna be nine months since I had her. Of course, I’m not loose. ¡Qué sucio!”

He gasped, pouting. “No me llamas así. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Eren raised himself slightly, marveling briefly over her blonde hair fanning his dark blue pillow; her own, equal transfixed expression. He rocked into her slowly, her body still every bit as pliant as he remembered, just as wet and clasping around him. “Besides, I like you squeezing around me like this.”

Historia tightened her grip on his hand. Her eyes clenched shut, her nails digging into his bicep, her heels pressing hard into the small of his back. His pace was too slow for her—the agitation mounting her face. She always preferred being on top or being fucked from behind. She needed it hard, quick, and fast, and even told him as much, whining, “Go faster.”

Anything else left her frustrated.

Eren wormed his arm under a leeway between his torso and her thigh. Historia understood what he wanted, loosened her ankle lock, and let him fold her leg against her chest. It was a little difficult to manage the weight distribution, keep his thrusting even, but Eren managed. He’d had a lot of practice. Back when they were first messing around, he’d been so embarrassed. He was so inexperienced and just eager to get it in. But Historia was patient with him, never afraid to tell him—or show him—until he got everything right.

She ruined him for other girls. Eren only knew how to please her.

So he gave her exactly what she wanted. He left them in this position for a few seconds longer before raising himself on his haunches once more. Eren curled himself, situating her legs on his shoulders.

Her eyes widened at the position. It wasn’t her number one favorite, but it was somewhere in the top five. “No, Eren, _not this one_ —”

“Just keep quiet.” He ordered. She was almost bent in half, clamping around him so deliciously Eren could almost see stars dotting his vision already as he grabbed her by the waist and battered into her relentlessly.

Historia’s hand flew to her mouth, covering her sobs of pleasure. Her thighs bloomed with the force of his cadence. Her eyes slammed shut, tears pricking at the corners from the intensity. He drove into her even harder, the headboard slamming into the wall. Eren knew he should take it easy—it was only a matter of minutes, probably before Ymir woke up. But he didn’t care. He just wished he could see the blush crawling down her chest for him, her breasts bouncing underneath his shirt. Wish her mouth wasn’t covered so he could hear her crying out for him, pissing off his neighbor’s like they used to.

“Fuck,” He rasped, clenching his teeth, the grip on her waist probably strong enough to leave fingerprints. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Te extrañé tanto.”

The hand clutching the pillow by her head reached out, lifting one of his, and twining their fingers. He moved his other hand to give her breast, giving a rough squeeze, before slipping down to circle and press her clit. Historia broke their gaze, throwing her head back. She didn’t last very long after that—her legs pressed against his chest quivering violently. The hand gripping his so tight, it started to hurt. Her wet heat convulsed around him, flooding him with unthinkable pleasure, pulling a low moan from Eren and a muffled sob from Historia.

He slows his pace, rocking into her shallowly, drawing out every last twitch of her body. She looked so fucking beautiful like this—boneless and delirious with her orgasm, barely able to focus on him. Blissed out. Eren licked his lips.

He was still hard but he knew he couldn’t last much longer. Eren threw her legs on either side of him, curled an arm under her, and flipped them over.

Historia blinked, confused, startled at the sudden change in position. She was still regaining her senses after her intense climax when he sheathed himself back inside her. Eren scrunched his nose impatiently, wordlessly gripping her wide hips, rocking her on top of him. He needed her to get to it. They didn't have much time; he wanted her to come with him.

Eren felt bad when her face twisted in discomfort. “You okay?”

Historia nodded, bracing her hands on his chest, her shoulders tense. He lifted his legs, planting his feet comfortably on the bed, her pert ass perched perfectly on his thighs, helping her. “Little sensitive.”

“You wanna stop?”

She shook her head softly. “Me gusta esta postura,” She swayed on him so leisurely. He pulled her in for a kiss, running his hands up and down her back, hoping to alleviate some of the aches, but Historia wrenched away before their tongues could touch, and pulled his shirt over her head.

Eren didn’t get much of a chance to drink in the magnitude of all her exposed skin before Historia kicked it up a notch. His eyes squeezed shut, harsh grunts ripping from his throat as she bounced; her small hands braced on his chest once more, knees rooted firmly against his hips. The sound of her skin slapping his was a harmony to his murky mind. He loved how she sucked him in like there was nowhere else he should be, except inside her softness, watching her face as it contorted in pleasure when his dick continued to scrub the deepest parts of her.

“ _Eren, you’re so big,”_ She moaned, tipping her head back, her hair long enough to almost touch her ass. “Eres mucho mejor que él. Te extrañé tanto.” And, fuck, if that didn’t almost make him come on the spot.

His head fell back against the pillow. “Fuck, baby,” Eren bit his lip, squeezing her hips in approval. She’d have fingerprints in a few hours. She never minded—Historia loved this complicated mix of sweetness and unrefined play only he knew how to give.

She suddenly and so randomly slowed her pace, swaying on him like a boat drifting the ocean. Eren’s eyes flew open. He thought he’d done something wrong, Maybe she was in some kind of pain again—wouldn’t be the first time he’d grabbed too hard, squeezed her neck too hard, slapped her ass too hard.

But Historia was peeking down at him, a sly smile tugged on the corners of her lips. “Hey. Aren’t I a total MILF?”

Eren knocked his head back. “¡De madre, Historia!” He growled, flashing his teeth in warning. “Shut up! Keep riding me!” He commanded, his frustration assembling in the form of grabbing her hips himself and rocking her faster. But she resisted. “You were doing amazing!”

She chuckled at his whining. She knew this was his favorite position, he knew he got _especially_ aggressive when he didn’t get his way when she teased him for too long. “Siempre estás impaciente, ¿eh, papito?” She kept up her torturous pace.

His already half-lidded eyes narrowed. She was _asking_ for it. If this was payback for his earlier teasing, she was going to regret it. He slapped her ass. It was a little loud, but he didn’t care. Maybe Ymir wasn’t as much of a light sleeper as he thought.

She tensed, peering down at him again, a spark sizzling behind her darkened eyes. His brow quirked. “You like that?” She nodded vigorously. “Of course you do.” He did it again. Historia stifled her moan with a hard bite of her lip. She rocked into him a little faster, and Eren helped her, thrusting into her, hard and deep. Her hands braced on his chest stiffened at the onslaught, but she took him to the hilt once more, always so perfect for him.

They built a solid tempo together, fucking in mostly silence, a thin sheet of sweat fashioning their skin. She was so hot to the touch but he’d gladly burn in it, his hands never staying on her hips for too long, squeezing her perky tits, groping her ass. On occasion, a whine broke through Historia’s pressed lips. His eyes drifted from her face to the smooth and supple map of her body, to the place where they were joined, watching as she engulfed him over and over again into her warm, wet walls. He mindlessly thumbed it for a bit, pressing and circling.

It earned him an especially delicious slam of her ass against his thighs. Eren groaned, tipping his head back. “Just like that, baby,” He murmured, closing his eyes, relying on the sensations to carry him away. “Do it again.”

She did. Her nails burrowed into his chest, and Eren hoped hoped _hoped_ she’d leave marks in her wake. “Hm, Eren,” She hummed, circling her hips, slowing down again for a brief period. He didn’t mind as much this time, the tell-tale flush beginning to develop on her neck. “Your hands are so rough.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” She agreed, circling her hips. He grunted. “Me encanta,” Historia fell into him, draping over him like a small heated blanket, surrounding him a curtain of butter-blonde hair. She assaulted him with caresses, her soft hands holding his face, kissing him with a gentleness that left him blindsided and dizzy combating their relentless pace. “It’s nice,” She murmured, moving onto his jaw. “I love the way you touch me.”

He fisted her hair, wrenching her mouth away from him so he could attack her neck. Sink his teeth into her skin again and again. “Historia, you feel so fucking good,” She arched her back, somehow sucking in her scream, her hands sliding down to find purchase on his broad shoulders, her nipples rubbing his chest.

She managed a few more rough slams of her hips before her orgasm coursed through her, knocking the wind out of him. Eren joined her over the edge, crushing her to him, his moan muffled into her neck.

Historia was the first to cover, hoisting herself up to his chest. Eren released her hair, stroking some of her hair away from her eyes. Historia leaned in, kissed him gently. “It should’ve been you,” She murmured, pressing her forehead against his. “I wish it’d been you.”

Eren licked his lips. He rubbed the damp skin of back soothingly. “Does it matter? I’m the one here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I gave this fic a major revision.


End file.
